there's a nespresso machine in the apt. where we're staying

And I have every intention of squirreling it away in my bag to take home. Other things I plan to steal from Buenos Aires: our tango teacher, Anabella

(we've taken lessons nearly every day but still dance like a pair of monkeys, which is a huge improvement over when we first arrived and danced like a pair of donkeys); a recipe for licuados, a juicy, fruity drink that's like a smoothie without the dairy;

the open terrace doors of this apartment and the warm air that blows through them;

a milonga or two for late-night dancing;

a life of sleeping late and eating late and drinking malbec and dancing every day.

Fuck it, bitches, I'm staying.

donde esta evita?

Recoleta Cemetery is by far the most touristy place we've visited so far, popular perhaps because it's basically a beautiful little neighborhood with stunning architecture, mausoleums instead of mansions flanking the walks. Or maybe it's because Evita "Like a Virgin" Peron resides there.

melocoton

It's like riding a bike: no matter how long it's been, you'll remember exactly.

lo siento, no habla espanol

At this restaurant a security guard attached my bag to my chair with a zip tie to prevent its theft and instructed me to free it using a steak knife. Or at least that's what I imagined he said. At another the Spanish-speaking waitress fetched the English-speaking manager in alarm when we ordered chorizo. "You don't have this in your country," the manager explained. "It's like...how do you say...a hot dog without bun? Pork in tiny parts? Are you sure?"

hola, como esta?

The yachtsman and I have traded salted caramel ice cream for dulce de leche, a snowstorm for midsummer. GFD will be posting live from Buenos Aires for the next week or so, perras -- photos mostly, and only one at a time due to technical constraints. Just what you were hoping for, I'm sure: someone else's vacation photos. This one is of the keys to the beautiful apartment we're staying in.

Wish you were here...